


Roving Feet

by OneWhoTurns



Category: Dishonored (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Consent, Empress Emily Kaldwin, F/M, Fade to Black, Flirting, Fluff, Heresy, Human Outsider (Dishonored), Post-Dishonored: Death of the Outsider, Tension, emsider, guilt and shame, quoting strictures, the seven strictures
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 17:24:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14117253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OneWhoTurns/pseuds/OneWhoTurns
Summary: "Restrict roving feet that love to trespass."She paused, her foot nearly slipping."They pay no heed to the boundary stones of other men's fields. They wander into foreign lands, only to return with their soles blackened by iniquity. Where have you strayed that destruction now comes behind you?"





	1. Part 1

For the first few weeks his eyes were dead.

Not truly “dead” perhaps, but lifeless nonetheless. No joy. No interest. Mostly fear and despondency and anger. Confusion.

It had hurt her to see him that way.

Maybe that was why Corvo had forbid her from going there. Not just because her appearance would draw too much attention - though that was surely true as well - but because her father knew it would hurt her to see him brought so low. This being - this man - who had given her power beyond her wildest dreams, now bent and wan and so incredibly weak. An excessively pale reflection of what he’d been.

* * *

The first time she’d made the trip out to the safehouse she’d been all curiosity. He’d been in their care for all of three days, and she’d been champing at the bit to go see him – to peer through the window, to know what exactly the Outsider was up to now he was free of the Void. To eavesdrop on  _his_  life, for once. She’d flashed through the city of Dunwall with ease, scrambling over rooftops, jumping, rolling, pulling herself along with a magic eager to be used, that itched to burn through her and ignite her veins with power. It had been a thrilling journey for the first half that wound down to a final few miles of walking and pulling herself through quieter unoccupied streets, behind the quaint farmhouses that lined the empty roads. Peaceful, really.

She wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t what she’d found.

Sneaking through the back bushes she’d vaulted up and over the brick garden wall easily. She’d approached carefully, quietly, watching the light cast in each room. She’d left earlier than her usual late-night wanderings, relying on magic to keep her swift and hidden. He surely must still be awake.

There was a light on on the main floor, the back corner: Meagan- no,  _Billie’s_  office, she remembered, the house’s layout carefully memorized. Well, she knew to avoid that.

But the light upstairs - yes, that was definitely one of the bedrooms.

Emily scanned the exterior, finding a reasonable path to follow, and began a quick and delicate climb up the side of the house. How to see in… She could use her dark vision, of course, maybe crouch above on the roof. But she didn’t want to see vague shapes, she wanted to see  _him_. What he looked like now, as a human.

She climbed along the slightest ledges and smallest hand-holds, her gloves a blessing, until she managed just the right position. She kept her eyes trained inside the room as she checked to verify his location. He was not quite fully facing away from the window, but enough that she wouldn’t show in his peripheral vision. Sitting in a rocking chair of all things, wrapped in a heavy utilitarian blanket, staring into the fireplace. She was struck by how frail he looked – how pale. His skin was dull and waxy, his eyes merely reflecting the firelight. He had none of the poise and power of his Void self, and that loss made her heart ache for him. So sad, to be brought into this vast unknowable world, alone, without a past, without a present even.

She’d been briefed by her father (after much insisting on her part) about the health problems the Outsider was struggling with – a difficulty adjusting to the food, the sound, the gravity even. He was supposed to begin some sort of physical conditioning once his body was able to handle it. It didn’t seem that he was there yet. She was overcome with the tragedy of his existence. So helpless. She’d never been helpless. Trapped, perhaps, but she had movement and she had her own mind, and memories, and imagination – and dreams, she’d always had dreams.

A shiver ran down her spine, and she wasn’t quite sure why.

When she saw his hand closing into a weak but angry fist around the fabric of the blanket she looked away. She couldn’t stay any longer. She could feel his frustration and his pain, and she couldn’t bear witness to that again.

* * *

The second time she visited she had her mind made up. She wasn’t the Outsider. She couldn’t sit by and watch and do nothing as people she cared about suffered. And she  _did_  care about him, she realized. His pain was her pain in a way that it wasn’t for others in her life. Maybe because, in some way, he was a part of her. Or she was a part of him? Something had passed between them when she’d taken his Mark. It only grew stronger with each visit to the Void, and it grew a life of its own when she traveled to the edge. The edge of the Void.  _Where my life ended and where it began again_ , he’d said. Before she’d felt a mix of fear, respect, irritation, and sympathy for the Void god. After, she felt something else.

And that was why she couldn’t be that silent watcher. She couldn’t sit outside, spectating his suffering. Just the thought of it filled her with shame and guilt and made her throat close up painfully.

The next time she visited, two weeks later, she started by creeping as smoke into Billie Lurk’s office and putting her down for a good rest. Placing the woman gently in her bed, Emily left the way she’d come, returning to the garden. She climbed the house as she had before, but paused further from the window. Her hand poised to pull herself in – or should she knock? She hesitated and her hand twitched, dark vision allowing her to see through the wall that hid him from her, without subjecting her to the details of his face.

She turned away.

Maybe she should leave. She was intruding. Corvo told her not to come, that was for a reason. It hurt her to be here. She should leave, it wasn’t right, this wasn’t her place - she belonged in Dunwall Tower, she should be  _reading_  these details not-

The window opening startled her, and she reflexively pulled herself into the room, behind the figure who had done the opening, her blade already in her hand and her posture crouched to spring.

But of course, there was no attacker here. Just a man, now closing the window again, not a trace of surprise or worry on his wan face.

“Your Imperial Majesty.” He said the words before he’d even turned, and that fact unsettled her. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t have all the customary pomp and circumstance that goes along with a visit of such an esteemed guest.”

When her eyes finally met his, they surprised her. She’d seen them from afar the last time - she knew they were no longer that bottomless Void black - but she’d never expected them to be that icy shade of hazel green. She’d been tempted to ask Corvo what he looked like, when she’d first heard the news. Somehow, she imagined such a superficial question would have raised alarms in her father’s head. But perhaps it was the lack of information that had led her here now, come to see for herself.

His eyes broke contact with hers as he watched the ground, returning to the rocking chair he’d been sitting at once more, and she noticed that - while he walked steadily - his steps were careful and measured. His lips formed a grim line as he was seated once more, and she saw pink rising in his pallid neck. From exertion? Was he truly so weak that this small motion tired him? No, he’d opened the window swiftly and without incident - she hadn’t even noticed his movement - so it couldn’t be that. What, then? Embarrassment. Shame. That he was confined to a chair while she was out and about, running and jumping and  _flying_.

“I assure you, I held no expectation of any such thing.” Her voice was soft – the voice she used for those who came seeking aid after tragedy. How she spoke to those in mourning.

His eyes flashed to hers, chilling and empty and somehow so angry. “Spare me your pity, Empress.” His voice chilled her, but not the way it had in the Void. No, this time it was all frosty disdain and bitter sneering.

She straightened her back, schooling her face into a neutral expression as she spoke with an even, business-like tone. “I apologize. That was thoughtless of me.”

His eyes narrowed, holding her gaze for a moment before he turned away, eyes on the flames again. The room was warm with the heat of the fire. Too warm for Emily’s tastes. Once his eyes had left her face, she felt the neutral mask waver. Was he still so sick? Was he feverish? Why was he still confined to this room? The panic clawed its way up her throat, her chest tight and anxiety tickling behind her ears. Her fingers twitched. She wanted so badly to ball them into fists.

Never before had Emily considered herself much of a caregiver. She’d never had much of a mothering instinct. But now, in this room, her heart ached to comfort him in some way – any way. His pain was palpable to her.

She turned her face away, once again a mask of professional indifference, and began to pace about the room.

It was about what she’d expect of a safehouse procured by the Royal Spymaster: comfortable but not extravagant, serviceable. And full of information. Maps were pinned on the walls, diagrams spread on the desk. Bookshelves overflowed with volumes about the history and traditions of the Isles. A whole other stack was perched on the bedside table. Her fingers ran over the embossed cover of the top volume:  _Litany on the White Cliff._  She frowned, and shifted the stack, seeing the other books that had been set aside.  _Everyman’s Face_ ,  _The Great Trials_ ,  _The Abbey of the Everyman_ ,  _Selected Sayings of the Overseer_ …

“Why…” She turned back to him, but he’d pulled yet another book from a collection on the stool beside the rocking chair, studying it with an empty gaze. Her eyes flicked back to the pile of religious texts as she straightened them, even as her fingers wanted to cringe away. “…They hate you.” Her voice was quiet, and she couldn’t help the small bite of pain that seeped into it. “Why are you reading these?”

He tucked a finger in the book he was reading and turned it aside as he looked back to her. “Religious texts are the core of my study. History is all well and good, but I of all people cannot cross the Abbey.” His words were firm and stoic, and Emily couldn’t quite tell how he felt about the whole issue. Resigned, perhaps. Bitter, maybe. She couldn’t blame him.

She was overcome with shame. This was her empire, after all. And it ran hand in hand with this… this cult. This cult that built its power on hate and fear. “I’m-” Her voice was haggard, and she cleared her throat, leveling her tone. “I’m sorry.”

She expected a question from him, maybe. Or an interested cocking of the head. But he just turned to gaze into the fire. No response was offered, and she wondered if she deserved one at all.

“I should go.”

“Yes, you should.” His words stung her as he opened his book once more, eyes not yet moving over the words.

“I…” She had no idea how to respond to that. So she walked slowly to the window, unlatching it carefully.

As she lifted her foot to the sill, he spoke behind her.

“ _Restrict roving feet that love to trespass_.”

She paused, her foot nearly slipping.

“ _They pay no heed to the boundary stones of other men’s fields. They wander into foreign lands, only to return with their soles blackened by iniquity. Where have you strayed that destruction now comes behind you?_ ”

Goosebumps rose on Emily’s skin. He spoke so calmly, his voice liquid iron, his words echoing some ancient ire beneath their steady pacing.

“ _Would you walk across burning coals or broken glass? Then why do you prowl into the homes of the honest, or into the dens of hidden things, for the result is the same. You will fall into the Void_.”

She didn’t dare turn around. She wanted to run, but she felt glued to the spot. She  _had_  fallen. He’d caught her.

“ _Instead, rest your feet on a firm foundation so that when the winds of the Outsider shriek against you, you will stand firm and not be overthrown._ ”

Emily’s eyes closed in sharp pain as he hissed his own name with a sudden malice, his once calm words now acrid.

For a moment she stood, still halfway gone, unable to speak and unable to turn around. Then she reached out her hand, and she fled.


	2. Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Come on in, Empress.” His voice was even, relaxed, and when she blinked into dark vision she saw him around the corner of the window, facing inward, as though waiting for her to appear. So she did.

She didn’t visit him for a long time after that. She covered her fear with anger. He was manipulating her. She shouldn’t feel bad for the man, he didn’t want her pity – but maybe he wanted her anger. Was that what he wanted? For her to be mad at him? He seemed to teem with some surging writhing  _something_  and parsing out just what that was was beyond her. She didn’t have the energy to invest. **  
**

The Outsider became just another subject she was briefed on. How his health was, plans for integrating him into society. He would need a name.

“Will we give him a title?”

Corvo seemed surprised at her question. “I… hadn’t considered it.”

She avoided her father’s eyes, keeping her tone blasé and her eyes glued to the papers she perused. “It seems he would be useful to have on hand in case of any… Void-related occurrences.”

Her father’s body stilled and his eyes narrowed. Maybe she was a little too eager. “…Void-related occurrences,” he repeated, just barely holding back his incredulity.

“And how much does he know about all those we come in contact with? Surely he’s the most reliable spy you can find, regarding people’s pasts.”

Was it so wrong for her to want the former god near? Yes, he was angry, but he was newly changed – he’d been wrenched from a life - an unlife - he’d known for thousands of years. His anger was justified. Why he directed it at her and not Billie… she had no clue.

“Emily… You haven’t seen him. He’s not the same pe-” Corvo stopped himself, seeming to rethink his words. “Not the same being he was. He doesn’t control the Void.” His voice turned wry. “He has no control whatsoever.”

Emily turned her eyes on her father, imperious. “Isn’t that your job?” She straightened her back, her tone authoritative. “You said you’d be training him.”

Corvo’s lips twisted, but he didn’t object. She was the Empress, after all. “Yes…”

She heard it in his voice. “But?”

“But he’s like a child! No,  _worse_  than a child, because  _you_  as a child were already training! You had discipline. He has a smart mouth and a fatalistic attitude that makes him just….  _impossible_.” Corvo was rarely so outspoken. Truly the man must be grating on him.

“Who’s training him?” She cocked her head at him, as though she didn’t already know the answer.

Her father shot her a knowing look. “You know damn well who. I’ve had to take time away from my duties as Spymaster - my duties to  _you_  as your Protector - twice a week for three months. And he’s no better with a blade than he was when we started.”

“Have Billie do it.”

Corvo raised a skeptical eyebrow at his daughter. “Billie Lurk stayed her hand from killing him when she knew nothing of him. Arm her with a blade against him now, after months of having him as a constant burden? He wouldn’t last ten minutes.”

Emily felt irked at her father’s words.  _Constant burden?_  Her neutral face shifted to a scowl, and her voice hardened. “As Empress of the Isles, I order you. Lurk is to train the Outsider. She’s already been conditioning him, getting him strong again – weapons training is a practical addition. Send her anything she needs.”

Corvo’s lips pursed, but he would not refuse a direct order. She very rarely made them - at least to him - and when she did, she would not budge. “Yes, Your Majesty.” His voice was gruff.

She shrugged off the twinge of guilt that always followed those words.

* * *

The third time she visited him, she came prepared for confrontation.

Over the garden wall, Billie was down and out before she could see what hit her (a sleep dart, as it happened to be), and then Emily’s hand reached the ledge, she pulled with her magic – and the window was open. Had it been open when she’d arrived? She’d taken Billie down virtually silently, as she’d been trained, surely she hadn’t tipped him off to her presence with mere noise.

“Come on in, Empress.” His voice was even, relaxed, and when she blinked into dark vision she saw him around the corner of the window, facing inward, as though waiting for her to appear. So she did.

“You knew I was coming?” The words were out of her mouth even as her body was reappearing. Emily glanced him over, curious.

He looked good. His skin had gained some color, still quite pale but no longer a waxy pallor, mostly likely thanks to the sunlight out in these parts. It must have been nice being free to walk around after weeks holed up recuperating. He’d gained muscle tone, too, and weight, looking the healthiest she’d ever seen him. Of course, he would be no match for anyone with fighting experience - not hand-to-hand, not with that build - but maybe if he did some cardio conditioning he could just outrun his opponents. He’d need much more work if he were to ever work for Corvo.

Emily’s eyes moved up from his body, and her eyes met his.

They were different now, too. So different from what they had been. Clear. Sharp. Engaged. She felt a rush of relief she hadn’t known she’d needed. And with that relief came the realization that he was giving her a look – a  _slightly smug_ look.

He crossed his arms, and she wanted to roll her eyes, almost positive that he was just preening from her attentions. She’d honestly just been checking his healing progress, but the idea that he’d think otherwise, that was an amusing one. What a very human thing, ego.

“I had a feeling,” he deadpanned.

She glanced around. The room wasn’t exactly clean, still scattered all over with learning materials, although now diagrams of exercises and fighting stances also littered the desk.  _Under_ books, she observed, wondering if he even bothered looking at the exercise diagrams at all. Based on her conversation with Corvo two weeks prior: no. “Hm.” She pursed her lips. “Really know how to make an empress feel at home.” She didn’t look back at him, instead beginning a walk around his room again, checking over the titles he had scattered about.

“I didn’t exactly plan for your arrival. My ‘feelings’ are a bit more immediate, Your Imperial Majesty.” His tone was wry but… playful? A dry humor. “More a sensing of Void powers. It’s how I knew the first time you visited.”

The first time? Emily realized with a small pang of guilt that he was actually referring to her second visit. He hadn’t known she was there that first night. That night he’d been cold and weak. That painful night. She shook her head to clear the memory, glancing down at the book on the bedside table.  _The Metaphysika Mysterium_. Her lips twitched. Back to his heresy. She was glad. “I see you’ve concluded your studies on the Abbey.” She glanced up, lips forming a small smirk.

He hadn’t sat down. He didn’t need to anymore. He had closed the window softly and moved to lean on the side of his desk, watching her. That look was back in his eyes. Interest.  _Fascination_. She  _fascinated_ him. It was a feeling she realized she’d missed. Her eyes spotted a spine that looked familiar on the desk beside him. Why did it look so familiar? She made her way toward the desk, running her fingers over books as she went, glancing over the maps, drawings, diagrams that were everywhere.

“Hm, yes,” he hummed his confirmation, “I’m quite the pious one these days.”

Emily raised an eyebrow, picking up on his playful attitude. “A good little heretic, are we?” The words came out in a sarcastic murmur. She found herself slipping into the play of it surprisingly easily. She hadn’t acted this way since before the coup, when she’d grown up so fast. Maybe it was just being so far from the tower, or maybe it was time of night, or that she was free of the burden of lies that came every day as she hid her Mark from the world, but she felt a blessed relief from the pressures of imperial duty. As though a weight had been lifted, and a woman had waltzed out from under it, magically intact.

“Heretic?” He placed a hand on his heart, a look of mock offense. “Never. No, I have the strictures well memorized. All that business about the Wandering Gaze, the Lying Tongue,” he glanced at the ceiling as though to help himself remember. She highly doubted he’d forget. “…those Restless Hands, Roving Feet, Rampant Hunger,” he shook his head. “That Outsider, truly,” his words were spoken with tight lips but good humor, “always after the Errant Mind.”

Emily paused as she reached the opposite end of the desk, toying with the edge of a diagram she’d been looking at as she glanced to the aforementioned offender. Crafty bastard. What was he getting at? Whatever it was, she found herself not minding it. Beyond not minding it, she found herself happy to take the bait. How did that Errant Mind stricture go? ‘ _Two contrary thoughts…_ ’ something about ‘ _he will become weak-willed and subject to any heresy._ ’

Heresy, indeed.

“That’s only six.” The words were out of her mouth in a heartbeat. She’d willfully taken the bait. Her eyes glanced over him again, and she didn’t see just his current body. She saw him as she had every time before, in the Void and out of it. All of him. His weak points, his failures, his cunning, his wit. His knowledge. His fear. And she didn’t mind it.

She didn’t mind it at all.

“Six?” He seemed to be finding it difficult to hide his amusement, his lips twitching into a smile - a satisfied smirk, even - as he cast a sideways glance at her.

He hadn’t moved an inch, still perched on the edge of the desk, but she could see the tension in him. He wouldn’t spring, himself. No, he wanted her to make this decision of her own free will. She wondered if, in some part of his mind, he had taken the strictures to heart. If he wouldn’t come after her because he wanted her to be able to pull away.

Not that she would.

“Which did I miss?”

She raised an incredulous brow. “You damned well know.” Her voice was lower than usual, deadpan but with an underlying current of accusation. Still, she shifted closer to him.

“Do I?” His voice had dropped too, becoming a quiet murmur as he turned to face her, leaning his palms on the desk now.

Tiny incremental movements drawing them closer and closer together, into each other’s orbit.

She turned away, a smirk on her lips, feeling like the most powerful woman in the world. A god - well, former god - at her beck and call, if only for a moment. “I’m sure you’re familiar.”

He shifted around the corner of the desk, coming up next to her, his right hand brushing her left.

Her skin sang at the touch.

His shoulder ever so briefly tapped her back, and his voice was on her neck, still waiting for her to come to him, even as he drew closer and closer. “You are, too.” It would have been a sing-song tone if his voice hadn’t been entirely in his throat, lending it a gravely texture that was…. distinct.

Hair raised on the back of her neck as his breath slid over her. She finally spotted that familiar spine and pulled it from where it lay. Ah. Of course. She’d been given a finely bound copy of this just before its release. A smile played on her lips as she turned to face him, finding him far closer than he’d ever been before. “Reading up on me?” She purred, holding the cover to face him. When he was bent down ever so slightly just like this, they were at perfect eye level.

He held her gaze steadily, and Emily found her blood was rushing in her ears, her face heating, her lips parting, breath shallow. Standing, turning to face her head on, his graceful hand took her biography from her fingers, placing it back on the desk. Again the brush of his skin on hers was electric. Her eyes briefly fluttered closed, so entranced by the sensation.

“You didn’t answer my question, Empress.”  His words were quiet, a whisper.

A hand cupped her face and she very nearly jumped, shivering at his touch as her eyes opened again. Immediately she was ensnared once more: lost in those clear hazel eyes. She felt the puckish smile playing over her lips even as she saw it mirrored on his. Her hands were pressed against his chest, feeling the oh so human heart that pounded furiously within him. She leaned just to the left, his hand sliding down her neck, raising goosebumps in its wake, and she lifted her chin to speak into his ear. “…And I don’t intend to.”

It was a tease, a game - a strategic move - and she wondered where he would play next.

His free hand slipped around her waist, reeling her in. Her body pressed against his and her heart leapt as he cupped her face again, fingers combing back and tangling in her hair, leaning his forehead against hers. Warm breath played over her lips and she found her eyes closed once more, savoring the sensation. Her mouth watered. His lips were mere millimeters from hers and she felt him smiling. “ _Truly, there is no quicker means by which a life can be upheaved and sifted than by the **depredations of uncontrolled desire**._ ” His lips moved against hers, but never close enough, just out of reach, his words feeding her.

She strained to bring her lips to his, to finally seal his words away with her breath, but he pulled ever so slightly away, his fingers woven in her hair serving to anchor her from reaching his lips.

If she truly wanted to, she could pull free in an instant. She could have him dead in a split second if that was what she wanted. But she didn’t want that. She never wanted that. She happily accepted his hand in her hair, enjoying the massage-like tug as he pulled her lips back.

And again he was there, lips just out of reach, teasing her. The hand from her waist raised, running his thumb along the curve of her lower lip. “ _…Within these things, the Outsider dwells_.”

She felt a groan from deep in her chest, yearning for him, and her hands clenched into fists in his shirt, but she wouldn’t pull him down to her. This was a battle and she would stand her ground. He would come to her. She licked her lips in anticipation, and felt as she accidentally tasted his as well. That was the breaking point.

And his will broke before hers. As it should.

“ _Fuck_  – Emily-” His words were lost between her lips, along with so many other words and sentiments.  _Why do you do this to me_  and  _why can’t I stop_  and  _how did we get here_  and  _yes_  – so much  _yes_.

Their kisses were hungry and passionate, mouths eagerly exploring one another. She led him in how she liked to be kissed, he was quick to respond in kind, and they were locked together. Every moan, every rasped breath, every time their skin met stars danced before her eyes. 

She found her hands roaming the planes of his chest, his waist, the sharp dip of his clavicle, fingers tickling trails down his neck – wanting to touch all of him. The thought that popped into her mind had a low chuckle escaping her throat.

He pulled back, eyes sharp, not missing a thing. He didn’t look angry, only amused. “What?” His voice was low, too, not quite breathless.

She glanced at him from under her lashes - eyes dark and burning - then looked away, a smile on her lips as she ghosted them over his jaw, letting her words drip like honey in his ear. “ _Restless Hands_ …” Her teeth grazed the skin just below his ear, and she felt his hands, wrapped around her waist, squeeze her in quick response.

“Mmm…” His hum of approval rumbled through him, lips dropping to her collarbone, his movements coaxing her to turn her head, letting his mouth work small kisses up her neck. His breath was hot, wrapping tendrils of air around her, his words crashing against her skin like dark warm waves. “ _Wanton Flesh_.”

He closed his teeth at the base of her neck, nipping her, and she couldn’t stop the moan even as an impish grin spread over her lips. “Forgetting this sixth stricture?” she mocked his play from just moments ago. “You seem to have quite the  _Lying Tongue_.”

The words were lost again, that same tongue quick to silence her – to cleanse her of the Abbey’s dogma, to raise her to her own place of worship. His kisses took her breath away, and she found herself tugging at the buttons of his shirt, entreating him, begging that she might continue. He leaned toward her, aiding her efforts, and when she was nearly done his own hands hesitated only briefly before working their own path over her clothes as well, coaxing every fastening open. “Oh my beautiful blasphemer…” Despite the smirk in his voice, his tone was still almost reverent.

Her hands were steady and eager, no doubt or fear in her, as they traced over every line on his torso, his skin warmer than she’d expected – flushed with heat, just as she was. She pulled away just long enough for each of them to shrug off open clothes, and then she was on him again, his mouth stifling a hungry cry she hadn’t realized she’d uttered. As his fingertips grazed the soft skin of her belly, running over lean lines of muscle, she found her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him to her, his hands now on her back.

She wanted to leap into his arms - wrap her legs around him - but, knowing he was still building muscle, she instead broke away from his kiss. Her body pressed up against him, rolling her hips against his as her eyes found that piercing pale gaze. “I want this.”

His breathing was heavy as his eyes seared into her. Did her eyes have that same hunger in them? He had the air of a cat playing with its prey. His mouth captured hers again, nipping her lip, eliciting a satisfied moan, and he rested his forehead against hers. “I live to serve, Empress.” The playful, wicked curve of his lips made her insides melt.

“Damn right you do.”


End file.
